Cullen's Charge
by Tishina
Summary: A mostly humorous story about a Dalish inquisitor and her friendship with Cullen. I asked, what would a Dalish miss most? The result was the children's charge ("Cullen"). That led to how their friendship developed. No violence, no romance (yet). (Chap 12 is newest) Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.
1. Two Mugs

Cullen had just finished checking to make certain the small group of Templars camped just outside the gate had set up watches for the night and was heading back inside the gates when a soft voice out of the dark startled him.

"Still working, Commander?" A slight movement on the low wall next to the steps brought the young Dalish woman who was beginning to be called the Herald of Andraste into the circle of firelight cast by the torch. She took another step to the edge, sitting down gracefully with her legs over the edge while Cullen wondered, not for the first time, how someone with her fair skin could go so unseen in the dark.

"There's so much to do, and Haven isn't exactly a defensible position, Lavellan. But I'm almost done for tonight."

She nodded, brushing her short dark hair back from her face before reaching behind her to bring a steaming jug and two clay mugs into the torchlight. "If you're almost done working, would you care to share a drink, Commander?" Zima must have seen something in his face because she added quickly, "it's just mint tea sweetened with honey, Commander, I find it relaxes me and helps me …sleep." Her left hand tightened over the strange scar that marked her miraculous survival. Until now, she had cooperated with everything they asked very quietly and shown little sign that the mark bothered her, though Cassandra and Leliana had reported it clearly caused her a great deal of pain at first. They'd all thought that stabilizing the rift had relieved her of the pain, but now he wondered if they'd been mistaken. "I slipped out here to…get outside of the walls for a few minutes."

He nodded and accepted the mug, sipping for a moment while he thought quickly. "You seem to be so comfortable with everything, Lavellan, that we tend to forget you're Dalish, I think. I suppose living like this must feel very strange to you?"

"When we're out in the field, not so much, but when we're here…" She stared into her mug of tea before sipping hastily. "I'm sorry, you're a Templar so I suppose I shouldn't say this to you."

"Ex-templar. And even I was, you aren't an apostate."

She chuckled softly, glancing back toward the gates. "The chantry isn't overly fond of the Dalish, Commander, we only exist _as_ Dalish because of an Exalted March. Though honestly, I'm only uncomfortable near the priests here because they either see me as either the Herald of Andraste or a heretic; neither seem like a safe thing for a Dalish."

"I can understand that. I think many non-humans, even those who believe in the Maker, avoid entering the Chantry itself, which is regrettable, and I'd imagine it would be even more uncomfortable for a Dalish for several reasons."

He was startled when she laughed softly, giving him an almost impish smile. "Would it surprise you to know that I've been inside chantries in the Free Marches a number of times? Commander, hasn't anyone wondered why I was at the summit?"

"You said your clan's leader, your…Keeper sent you to find out if the conclave was a threat to the Dalish?" He cupped his hands to warm them around the mug, watching her dark blue eyes study him over the rim of the mug as she sipped slowly.

"Yes, but didn't you wonder why _me_?" She lowered the mug, staring into it for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. "However much some of the Dalish would like to pretend otherwise, we do have to have contact with non-Dalish, at least to trade for things we can't produce ourselves, particularly metalwork. Or did you think we hauled around a full blacksmith's shop and an iron smelter in one of our aravels?" She surprised him with another impish grin that made her look years younger.

"I…guess I never thought about it." He took a sip, watching her with both fascination and a little caution now that she seemed to be letting down her guard a little.

"Most clans have at least one or two people who have enough experience to be able to trade with humans and dwarves in relative safety, and when I showed a talent for being unnoticed, my Keeper apprenticed me to our current trader. He taught me how to conceal my vallaslin, how to go unnoticed, how to observe the people for potential trouble before we tried trading, and how to evaluate a blacksmith in particular." She grimaced suddenly "And he taught me how to spot the worst trouble and remove myself safely. It is rarely a good thing for a young elven woman to be _noticed_ by a human, particularly a human noble; they're inclined to see us as…toys, as _things_." Zima saw his eyes darken, and shook her head. "No, I learned to be very alert, Commander, and I also learned that while many humans never saw past our differences, many others did and were people very like my own clansmen in many ways."

"I see. So she sent you because you have spent more time among humans."

"Partly." The smile slipped for a moment, then she recovered. "Our clans are too small for anyone to be expendable, but I go in harm's way for them because my loss would harm the clan less."

Now that he was watching her more closely, Cullen didn't miss the momentary flicker of her eyes down at the mug, then back to meet his calmly. "Why? Do you mean that you go in harm's way to be their eyes and ears outside the clan?"

He saw tension in her shoulders and the way her hands tightened on the mug. "Partly that." She saw the question in his eyes and shrugged. "No one in Clan Lavellan is directly dependent on me, and there have also been times I've left the clan for a few months to travel and learn more than my clan may think necessary. I have learned too much about the non-Dalish for even my own clan to be entirely comfortable with me now. For all we Dalish pride ourselves on recovering and preserving old knowledge, they are much less comfortable with someone who is interested in more than that. They're still my clan, but I have walked a different path from them for many years." Her lips twisted wryly as she looked down at her left hand. She suddenly took a long draught of the tea. "I never thought it would take me this far from them, though."

She raised the jug and refilled her own mug and his. "What you're doing here, have done here in and in the Hinterlands, is very important, Lavellan, and you've been giving people—human, elf, and dwarf—hope."

Zima wrinkled her nose at him. "A symbol? That's fine for now, but what happens when I make a decision they don't agree with? Will I instantly go from Herald to heretic? Even Lady Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra want very badly to believe that I was somehow chosen by the Maker. You, at least, call me Lavellan, you know, just as if I'm a person and not a symbol."

Cullen frowned, thinking back and realizing that the others did almost always call her Herald and how her eyes, that odd dark blue, often rested on him briefly, curiously, when he addressed her by name. "You're right, I hadn't noticed. You said you had been inside chantries before this? How does…" His words trailed off as he tried to think of a way to ask without giving offense.

"Why would a heathen Dalish spend time in a chantry?" She held the mug against her cheek for a moment, eyes closed as if drawing warmth from it. "Back not long before the blight, or at least before the Free Marches heard about it, I met a Chantry priest, a Revered Mother, in fact, who saved me when she could easily have won favors and donations for her chantry by handing me over to someone, and she did it although she had never seen me before and even recognized I was Dalish." Her eyes stared past him into the dark. "It's a boring story, really, but when I tried to repay her, she refused, saying if I felt I owed a debt, she would be interested in hearing whatever I felt safe telling her about the Dalish gods. Our clan stayed in the area for several months, and I…was glad of an excuse to get away from our camp at the time. " Her slight hesitation made Cullen think she had censored what she was going to say, but he was reluctant to pry when he was actually finding out more about her than they'd learned in several weeks. "She slowly became a friend, allowing me to read books from their library, discussing them with me, then she gave me the names of a few other priests and scholars in the Free Marches who she thought might be willing to teach a Dalish along with a letter from her." Zima shrugged. "It was a relatively peaceful area, and of course we had no idea a blight was starting in the south, so I told our Keeper, who was the only one who knew I'd been visiting a priest to learn more about humans, that I was going to travel for a few months to meet some of these people. She didn't entirely approve, but I don't think she was surprised either." Her eyes suddenly refocused on his, sharp and piercing. "So yes, I've been in chantries many time, I've heard the Chant of Light, and I've even read it, including the Book of Shartan." There was another brief flash of that impish grin. "Which I also probably shouldn't admit to even an _ex_-Templar."

A voice from the darkness startled both of them. "Does that mean you believe in the Maker instead of the Creators, Lavellan?" Solas stepped into the light, leaning on his staff, his eyes curious, but not entirely approving, on Zima.

She shrugged. "I _believe_ in both the Creators and the Maker, but there's a difference between that and _worshipping_ them, and I don't. I'm not certain we actually know the truth about any of them. However hard we try, we Dalish only know bits and pieces of our history and religion, and I have my doubts about how well we've interpreted even those." She eyed Solas warily, as if expecting an outburst, but he studied her with an expression that was almost approving in return.

Cullen watched the exchange silently, startled at her admission. Everyone had assumed that she was devout to the Dalish gods, though many also seemed to assume that being "chosen" would mean she would convert to the Maker, yet here she was firmly claiming a middle ground that no one, even Solas, had apparently considered.

"I can find no fault with that, skepticism is healthy as long as it does not become cynicism, and you are far more open-minded than the other Dalish I have met."

"And how many of Clan Lavellan have you met before this?" Cullen was a little surprised at the challenge in her voice, recalling for the first time that Dalish and other elves did not always trust each other, though he knew that Leliana had reported that Zima had made a point of speaking to every elf in Haven at least briefly to learn their names, down to the lowest servant.

"None, an omission I am beginning to regret, though somehow I doubt you are typical of your clan?" Solas's statement was almost amused, a challenging question that caused Zima to break their stare uncomfortably. "I would be very surprised if you were. Good evening, Lavellan, Commander."

He continued serenely past them through the gates, but when Cullen turned back to Zima, she had an exasperated expression, staring through the gate and muttering a phrase in Elvhenen that he couldn't quite make out before catching his stare and flushing. "I apologize, I don't know why, but he brings out the worst in me, Commander; it's been a long time since anyone treated me like a child or made me react like one." Her lips twisted in a rueful smile. "And yet, you and he are the only two people here who never refer to me as Herald, at least when speaking to me alone." Abruptly she hopped off the wall. "Our clan's hahren told me once that when you feel lonely and want a friend, take a walk with two mugs and one will find you." She grinned impishly at Cullen's expression as she collected the mugs and jug. "I'm rather glad you found me before Solas did. Good night, Commander." She vanished into the darkness before he could even react enough to say good night, realizing he'd never even thought to wonder why she'd had two mugs with her.


	2. A Matter of Honor

"She did what?"

Josephine stared at the messenger, open-mouthed. "The message from the Crossroads was that a knight from Verchiel got a bucket of slimy pond water dumped on him." The messenger was eying Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine nervously. "By…the Herald."

"Maker's breath. Do we know _why_ she did it?" Cullen ran a hand through his hair tiredly.

"No sir, but the Herald sent a note." The messenger quickly handed over the folded bit of parchment that hadn't been included in the rest of the reports. Leliana took it, her lips twitching as Josephine clearly fumed, scanning the neatly penned lines, covering her mouth to suppress a laugh.

"Lavellan says that Sera swiped her…knickers and hung them from a tree near their campsite recently, and the bucket of pond water had been intended for Sera as a revenge prank until she saw the knight hit his servant just before he passed under the tree she was hiding in. She felt he needed the lesson more and apologizes if his lord complains to Josephine, though she feels certain this knight cannot represent anyone we'd want to ally with, and begs us not to say anything in the official instructions we send back to her. Lavellan adds that returning the favor to Sera is a matter of Dalish honor, and if she doesn't succeed, Sera won't respect her." The messenger coughed, his hand over his mouth and his eyes firmly fixed on the wartable. Cullen fixed his eyes on the stained glass chantry window, his lips twitching, while Josephine tapped her pen in annoyance.

"We cannot build up a good reputation with the nobles if the Herald and Sera engage in a public war of pranks, this is really very serious."

"Well, perhaps you can suggest ways to Lavellan to teach a high ranking person a lesson that nobles will respect better, though I have to admit I think this was rather appropriate. And she's absolutely right that the only way to get Sera's respect is to retaliate." Leliana's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Did the Herald have anything else to say?"

"No, milady, though she did ask me to see if the alchemist had any wrengrass and monk's lichen." An abrupt bark of a laugh was surprised out of Cullen.

"Did she now? Exactly those two herbs?" The corners of his eyes showed lines of laughter that he managed to repress after that first laugh. "Well, check with the alchemist then get some food and rest. We'll have messages to go back to the Herald before morning." The messenger bowed and began to back away, but Cullen stopped him. "This…might be better not discussed widely, at least for now, however tempting it might be."

"Yessir, of course." The messenger fled, but the door was barely shut before Cullen began to laugh. Josephine was beginning to let go of her annoyance, but Leliana eyed him suspiciously.

"Alright, Commander, why do you find her request for those two herbs so amusing. I'm not really familiar with either."

He coughed, getting himself under control. "They're fairly common in the eastern Free Marches, and they do have medicinal uses. But if you grind them together with salt and put them, say, in someone's socks, they cause the wearer to itch. Frantically. You have to take off the socks and wash your feet, and after about ten minutes, the itching fades, but you have to be careful to shake out the powder from the socks then wash them carefully before actually touching them again." Leliana slowly smiled, then began laughing while even Josephine's lips twitched.

"This is her replacement for the bucket of water, and if she plays the joke on someone besides Sera, it won't get traced back to her. And since she didn't order the messenger to keep it secret, she expected us to find out. But how did you know about this, Commander?"

"We once had a prankster among the Templar recruits who used this very effectively on a couple of other recruits; I did eventually catch Carver, but I reprimanded him privately, mostly because it was a harmless prank in response to jokes they'd played on him." He shrugged. "Normal high spirits, but sometimes Meredith was a bit heavy handed with the recruits. But he did tell me how it was made, apparently it's a fairly common joke in the eastern Free Marches."

Josephine shuddered, "at least it's a bit more subtle than a bucket of slimy pond water."

Leliana laughed. "I for one am glad to know the Herald has a sense of humor. Though if she or Sera try one of these jokes on Cassandra…"


	3. Command

Zima rubbed shoulder tiredly. "Lady Josephine, Leliana, please, I think Ritts will make an excellent agent for the Inquisition, she's wasted standing watch out on patrol."

"She was derelict in her duty, Lavellan, engaging in a…dalliance while on duty." The elf raised an eyebrow at the Antivan, lips twisting in a wry smile.

"People do strange things when they think the world is coming to an end, Lady Josephine, like, oh, recruiting a Dalish spy into an Inquisition. If Templars hadn't come across them, it would have been harmless, or she might even have recruited that mage to the Inquisition. Frankly, we can use all the help we can get."

"But to reward her by recruiting her as an agent?"

Zima glanced at Cassandra and Cullen who had remained surprisingly silent during this discussion, though both looked uncomfortable, then shook her head, surprising all of them by suddenly crossing her arms and scowling at Josephine.

"Look, you put me in charge of a team and sent me out in the field with them. You supposedly gave me the authority to use my judgment, and I stand by the decisions I made. If you're going to second guess me, if you can't back me when I have to use that authority, then you need to send someone else. It isn't as if I'm making decisions without careful consideration either. Seeker, did I or did I not ask Varric's opinion?"

"You did." Cassandra spoke the words briskly, nodding as if in approval.

"And if I recall correctly, his words were 'if you can charm the pants off an apostate in the middle of a war, you've got talent.'" Cassandra snorted, but nodded again.

"Ritts may have made a bad judgment, but I can't say in the same situation many of our people might not have done the same thing. People are scared, and they want to feel alive, to touch something that makes it all feel worthwhile, and I'd be very much surprised if there aren't as many people desperately trying to feel more alive that way as there are people praying and reciting the chant of light." Zima's lips twisted into an amused grin. "Or have you not been to the tavern recently?"

Leliana simply raised an eyebrow, though Josephine looked a bit more uncomfortable. "Probably true. And you are right, of course, Herald. We shouldn't be second guessing your decisions if we want you to feel that it's worth actually making them in the field. You have our apologies, Lavellan. And I actually agree, Ritts sounds as if she could be useful."

"Good." Zima managed a tired smile. "And when you go to interview her, before you're tempted to chew her out for her mistake, remember that she just saw someone whom she cared about at some level killed in front of her, and I doubt anything you say could make her feel worse about it."

The rest of the meeting wound up quickly, and Zima watched Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine file out, with stacks of papers, and sighed, picking up her untouched mug of now luke-warm tea, only to discover she wasn't alone when she glanced up.

"You look exhausted, Lavellan. We could at least allow you to get something to eat and wash up a little before dragging you into meetings every time you report back to Haven." Cullen rested one hip on the table across from her, studying her closely.

Zima shrugged, closing her eyes to inhale deeply. "We all feel the urgency, Commander, though I definitely apologize for the road dust and aroma of sweaty horse." She ran a hand through her dark hair with a grimace. "I'll admit that my stomach is insisting that bowl of stew or a bit of roast meat and fresh bread to go with this tea would help keep me from biting anyone else's head off."

He walked around the table briskly, surprising her by seizing her elbow and steering her out the door. "That we can take care of, as long as one of my aides doesn't find me between here and the cook fire, and if I'm with you, it's less likely that someone will seize on the chance to talk to the _Herald of Andraste_." He used the title with a humorous emphasis, and she groaned. "I won't ask how many times that happens. By the way, well spoken. I think it was past time for you to remind everyone that when we give you authority, we should expect you to use it."

"'Lead or follow, my son, command cannot be shared for…'" Zima grinned up at him, dark blue eyes twinkling in mischief as she waited for him to fill in the rest.

"'Two generals will lose the war.'" Cullen finished the quotation almost reflexively, stopping near the entrance of the Chantry to stare in wonder. "How does a Dalish come to quote a human text on military philosophy, especially _that_ one?"

"The chantry priests I visited didn't always pay close attention to what I was reading, and the resident Templars usually have a few manuals and books on the shelves. I admit, the copy of Drakon's text I found was a very old manuscript, I'm not certain anyone even realized what it was. Did you think I spent all of my visits just reading the Chant of Light?" She shrugged and moved out the door, and shaking his head, he followed. "And do you think my Keeper would have been pleased if that's how I spent my time?"

"Why Drakon's text, though? He was writing about his philosophy of command and about strategy and tactics of armies and heavily armored men and laying siege to fortified positions. The Dalish don't exactly fight in shield walls with tower shields or use siege equipment." He led her to a table near the fire and gestured to the cook's assistant who quickly brought a bowl of stew and a platter with bread and cheese before hurrying back to the pot simmering over the cookfire.

Zima picked up the spoon, stirring the stew slowly, eyes not meeting his. Finally, she said simply. "But humans do, Commander." She took a bite of stew before finally looking up, gaze steady. "I do believe I told you what I do for my people."

"You're their eyes and ears." He studied her closely as she bit her lip and waited for him to connect information. "You don't just make certain the clan is safe in an area, do you?"

"I don't collect information to use _against_ humans, if that's what you're afraid of." She chose a slice of bread, dipping it into the stew and closing her eyes as she bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. "Commander, I don't say that the Dalish probably aren't at least partly at fault, but when a group of hotheads from a village decide to start something and some idiot is hurt or killed, what do you think happens next?" She raised a tired eyebrow at him and wrinkled her nose. "The local noble organizes his forces to come after us in retaliation. Some of them are also hotheads and badly underestimate the 'barbarians'. But once this starts, eventually someone more competent comes after us, and that's why I studied those manuals, so we'd understand how they fight and have a chance to defend ourselves, or better, to escape without having to fight at all."

Cullen stared across at the Chantry, thinking hard as she slowly ate, her eyes wary on his face. "So, you have been using your friendship with priests to spy."

"It certainly wasn't the main reason, and the information I collected was defensive only." She finished the last bite of bread, washing it down with some ale. "Commander, all the military manuals in the world won't turn the Dalish into an army, I think you know that. People tend to think of all Dalish as one group, but clans are scattered and far from united." Zima shrugged and grinned, though her dark eyes were still wary. "Truthfully, the ones most likely to be hostile are the traditional clans who also would expel me as too polluted by my contact with humans, as shem'lath, so they're least likely to learn anything that came from me. Frankly, three-fourths of what I learned is useless to my clan, but it let the Keeper justify my absences."

"I think I understand." Cullen suspected there was more to her last statement than was apparent on the surface, but also suspected she wouldn't answer a direct question. "Was that your only interest in studying with chantry scholars, to study human warfare?"

"No, but it justified the time I spent away, though honestly I found it fascinating for its own sake." She finished the stew, leaning back and rotating her shoulders. "I did learn one thing today."

"What's that?"

"When Lady Josephine gets upset with me, she slips and calls me Lavellan instead of Herald." Her grin had a trace of triumph in it.

He had to laugh, pushing the platter of bread and cheese toward her. "That's one bit of progress, at least." He watched as she helped herself to another slice of the bread, eating it with obvious pleasure. "So, why tell us now? And why me?"

She shrugged. "If I keep what I know and what I can do to myself, I'm tying your hands. As for why you instead of Leliana? Because you understand the possibilities of what I might know the best, and you value honesty. Because I thought you'd respect why I did what I did to help protect my people, and why I don't apologize for it." She grinned impishly. "Because you've a knack for seeing past things like tattoos and ears, my friend."

He was embarrassed at first, but her grin and tone forced a laugh out of him. "Not taking another walk with two mugs tonight, then?" Just then Solas passed, deep in conversation with Cassandra, his eyes brushing across the two at the table, frowning and hesitating for a moment before he followed the Seeker into the Chantry. Zima's eyes watched him walking away, frowning in turn, then she forced her attention back to Cullen.

"I wasn't planning to, not tonight. Once I've gotten a really good bath, my cot is screaming for me." She stood, picking up the bowl to take it to the cooks, when Cullen stopped her.

"Are you having problems with the apostate, Lavellan?"

"Trouble? No, it's nothing about him being a mage. He's just…" She hesitated, staring down at the empty bowl in her hands, "Commander, most of the elves I've met outside the Dalish protect themselves behind a screen of subservience or they think entirely like humans, like Sera and elven mages from the circles. Solas does neither, but he's not Dalish either. And he feels he has a right to judge the Dalish without really knowing what their lives are like day to day, and that irritates me." She shrugged. "So no, there's not a serious problem, I just have to learn how to either defuse his arrogance or find out what's behind it so we can work well together." Zima rubbed her neck with a grimace. "Maybe a bath and a good night's sleep will give me an answer. Thank you, Commander."

She started to walk away when he remembered something. "Oh, Lavellan, I haven't heard what Sera's reaction was to the wrengrass and monk's lichen; did you protect your Dalish honor successfully?"

Zima grinned at him. "Now, Commander, of course I did. It was a glorious victory, and it took her hours to realize I'd done it. Of course, I've since had to be careful to taste my food before eating; it's gotten a bit too much pepper at least twice since then. But now that we're back in Haven, I can get more herbs from the alchemist for something even better." She winked and turned as he laughed.


	4. Between

"Mother Giselle, how is she?"

Cullen and Cassandra stood at the entrance of the hastily erected tent as the elderly priest finished adjusting the blankets over the dark-haired Dalish woman.

"She is strong and will recover quickly, I think, if we can give her the rest she needs."

"Has she woken up enough to speak yet?" Cassandra bit her lip, clearly struggling between concern for Zima and the need to know exactly what happened after she stayed behind at Haven.

A tired voice startled them, and her right eye cracked just a sliver to peer at them.

"No, I'm talking in my sleep, it's more efficient that way."

Cassandra snorted, but Cullen's lips twitched slightly. "So I see. Does this mean you'd answer anything we asked right now, Lavellan?"

"Of course, and I won't even tell you that I lie when I'm sleeping. That could be fun; I could convince everyone I was really an ancient immortal elf awoken to walk Thedas or something." Her voice cracked a little, and she licked her lips. Giselle raised her head carefully and brought a cup to her lips, and she drank thirstily.

"You really should rest, child." Zima finished drinking, lying back on the pad of clothing folded under her head, but managing to open both eyes.

"I am resting. Believe me, I've had enough excitement for a few lifetimes in the last month or two."

"I guess you have." Cullen returned her lopsided smile, but his eyes were shadowed with a mix of guilt and worry. "If you're up to it, would you mind telling us a little so we know whether or not we're likely to be pursued?"

She shifted slightly and nodded. "Aside from being close enough to what appeared to be an archdemon to count his teeth and smell his breath? That…_thing_ called himself the Elder One and said his name was Corypheus. And he came for _this_." Zima lifted her left hand an inch or two, turning it over to show the mark. "He claimed I interrupted a ritual meant to give him this, he called it an anchor, and it was meant to be a weapon to breach the fade so he could become a god, and he meant to reclaim it." Her eyes slid from theirs to stare at her hand. "He…tried, but couldn't remove it." Her eyes closed tiredly. "I'm glad the signal came when it did, he seemed a bit put out by the idea he couldn't undo it, and I didn't really want to find out what he had in mind. Ending as a snack for an archdemon or centerpiece of some blood magic ritual isn't exactly my first choice of a way to go out."

Giselle stroked her head, seemingly about to object, but Zima opened her eyes and shook her head. "No, I'm fine, just tired and a bit bruised."

"How much of his force was caught by the avalanche? And what happened to you?"

"Most of his forces must have been caught, I think, but the dragon got Corypheus clear of the avalanche. I tried to run and was knocked through a damaged floor into some sort of cavern just as the avalanche reached me, so if they were watching, he may think I'm dead. I was unconscious for a while, then found a tunnel out to the surface. I'm not sure how long I wandered in the blizzard, trying to follow your tracks." She bit her lip, glancing at Giselle. "I'm sorry, your Reverence, I know you wanted to believe that this mark was a gift from the Maker and Andraste, but if he's telling the truth, it was an accident."

"That doesn't mean that the Maker's hand wasn't involved in that accident. But now you need to sleep."

Zima wrinkled her nose, then grinned ruefully at Cullen and Cassandra. "As much as I hate to lie abed, I guess surviving playing tag with an archdemon and getting thrown around by an angry monster on a quest for godhood ought to be enough for a day or two."

Cullen managed to return her grin, though there was little humor in his eyes. "Not to mention surviving an avalanche and a blizzard and buying the entire Inquisition time to escape, I'd have to concede you deserve a few hours rest." Zima chuckled, her eyes drooping closed and suddenly relaxing.

Giselle checked her breathing, tucking the blankets more tightly around her, then gestured for them to leave. "She's fine, but she needs rest."

As Cassandra and Cullen turned to rejoin Leliana and Josephine, Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at Cullen inquisitively. "You know, if Varric had overheard, he'd be clutching his chest at discovering you have a sense of humor, Commander. The Herald has certainly had a surprising influence on you."

He grimaced, "Well don't tell him, I'll never hear the end of it, though I can see where people might think I'd misplaced my sense of humor during my time in Kirkwall." Cullen glanced back over his shoulder at the tent. "She told me it frightens her that everyone only sees the Herald, Seeker; having one person comfortable enough with her as Lavellan to tease her seems to reassure her."

"I thought Sera was taking care of that." Cassandra's tone was dry.

"True, though I'm not sure that helps since Lavellan told me that the higher ranked you are, the more likely Sera is to play a joke on you. She wouldn't hesitate to hang someone's knickers from a statue of Andraste, Maker help us."

"Maker's breath, I _knew_ Sera was behind that!"


	5. Family

"You have siblings?"

"Two sisters and a brother." Cullen shifted to lean forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair while Zima bent over the board to study the pieces.

"Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should. Ah, it's my turn."

Zima leaned back to watch him with a grin. "All right, let's see what you've got."

They made a few moves in a companionable silence, then while she studied the board, he asked curiously. "Do you have family? I mean, you talk about your clan and obviously miss them, but you've never mentioned anyone except the Keeper and the, what was it, the Hahren?"

Zima leaned back in her chair again, her arms crossed on her chest, dark blue eyes studying him thoughtfully. "In Clan Lavellan? No, or not close family. My mother's siblings joined other clans when they found mates, and my father came from another clan, so I have cousins in several clans. My father returned to his clan after my mother died." She chuckled. "I've only seen him three or four times since then, but the last time we got news of his clan, I have two half-brothers. I think the oldest must be seventeen or eighteen now."

Cullen ran his right thumb absent mindedly over the scar above his lip, his fingers cupping his chin thoughtfully. "You told me once that no one in your clan was dependent on you, that's what you meant, isn't it?"

"No one I'd be more responsible for than anyone else in the clan would be, yes. I was old enough I could have chosen to go with my father, but, well," she suddenly seemed to fumble with the words. "It's hard to explain how important clan bonds are, I think because to us it's something that just _is_.

She suddenly refocused on the board, and they played for a minute or two in companionable silence before he asked curiously. "What do you miss most? I hope I'm not being rude but you sound as if you miss them a great deal, but sometimes you also sound relieved at the distance between you."

Zima continued to stare at the board, and he wasn't certain she was going to respond for a few moments. Cullen was just beginning to wonder if she'd taken offense somehow at the question when she spoke slowly, "I suppose I do. What do I miss most? The sounds of children. In a Dalish camp, you always hear the sounds of children, they're always underfoot and asking questions, playing or fighting or learning from the Hahren. I almost never see or hear children here, though I know some came with their families." Her eyes were briefly focused on the distance, as if watching a scene he couldn't see. "A clan's children belong to the entire clan in a sense, so I could always spend a few minutes playing the monster for one of their games or carrying one on my shoulders or answering questions about the day's hunt." Suddenly she straightened herself, shrugging with a grin. "But the way the Dalish live, it's very hard not to know everything going on with everyone in the clan, and sometimes that's…smothering."

"And you feel smothered sometimes?" Cullen stared at the board as if considering his next move, but actually listening to the background noises in Skyhold and realizing for the first time how different that noise would seem to someone used to living on the move in a wilderness camp.

"Sometimes." She chuckled, one finger tracing a pattern at the edge of the board thoughtfully. "Sometimes it feels as if everyone knows what you think as soon as you think it, and sometimes you feel as if you know exactly what others are thinking just because you all know each other so well. I'd imagine you understand that feeling if you had three siblings."

"Yes, though I think living in Templar quarters was even more like that." His lips twisted into a crooked smile, the right side of his lips curving up higher than the left.

"Without the noisy children and the family crises, yes, I'd imagine it would be. With thicker walls." He made a move, and Zima inspected the board. "Did you play games like this when you were off-duty, or do Templars usually try to get away from the Towers?"

"Sometimes. There were usually a few of us who enjoyed it and preferred quieter amusements. I've never been one for crowds and noise."

She grinned up at him suddenly as she made her move, "I would never have guessed." Her tone was gently teasing. "Has Leliana begun twisting your arm to show up for Josephine's tea?"

"Maker's breath, another one? Remind me to hide if Leliana heads this direction. I don't understand how you can stand them." Cullen groaned, covering his eyes as she chuckled for a moment, then she sobered.

"I don't precisely enjoy them, but I'm all too aware that most of my exposure to human society has been limited to village blacksmiths and merchants or to chantry scholars. If I'm going to survive being thrown into contact with nobility, especially Orlesians, well, this is certainly a less dangerous way to learn. Being an elf, much less a heathen Dalish, already puts me at a disadvantage in their eyes."

Cullen frowned as he moved a piece. "Have you been having trouble with the ambassadors because of that?"

She shook her head. "Not really, certainly not as much as I expected. A few _pointed_ comments that they apparently assumed I was too barbaric to understand, but I'm discovering that spying and politics need many of the same skills, particularly the ability to keep your reactions to yourself."

"Better you than me. But if someone really does insult you…"

Zima leaned back, covering her mouth to smother her laugh, "And you'll go tower over them, scowling? Creators, now the next time someone makes a rude innuendo about the Dalish, I'm going to picture you standing next to them like that and have to try not to laugh."

The right side of Cullen's mouth curved up a little at her amusement. "Maybe we should warn Josephine not to have us both present when you're dealing with envoys. I suspect as soon as one said something stupid, you'd glance at me and she'd have to explain why we were both laughing. Not that I'd regret it."

"Nor I, which probably means it's a really bad idea."


	6. Cullen

Zima leaned over the map table, trying to locate Highever. "Josephine, where does that report say they were again?"

Josephine held up the parchment, turning it toward the candles to squint at the smeared ink, "The troops were last seen…" She broke off as shrill, excited voices rapidly grew louder through the door from the hallway, and turned to face the noise. Zima straightened, reaching for the bandolier with her knives, face alarmed as suddenly a dozen small children, human, elven, and dwarven, from toddlers to sturdy five and six year olds, burst through the doorway, led by a small child in a familiar lion helm and followed closely by…

"Cul…Commander? What's going on?" Zima pulled her hand back from the bandolier, still staring at the tall blonde man, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Troops! Wait for the command to charge! Remember, we must rescue the Lady Josephine!" Josephine frowned, setting down her writing board, then realized that a slow grin of delight was spreading across the Inquisitor's face as she saw the bread stick weapons each of the children carried, then Zima seized a long thin loaf of Orlesian bread from a tray of food, breaking it in half to wield one piece in each hand, stepping in front of Josephine to face them.

"Lady Josephine, behind me! I'll protect you from these dangerous bandits with my last breath! For Clan Lavellan!"

She dropped into her fighting stance as Cullen roared, "Charge! Take down the vile creature holding our Lady captive!"

The mob of children charged forward, trying to manage war cries that kept ending in giggles, and the young Dalish woman dodged to one side, lightly tapping one child on the head with a loaf of bread, while gently whacking another on the side as they all giggled and yelled, "For the Lady Josephine!" Within a few seconds, they had surrounded her and charged in, poking at her with their bread stick "swords", then grabbing her hands and pulling her down, mobbing her under a giggling pile of children, while two children tugged at Josephine's free hand and her sash, dragging her toward Cullen as she covered her mouth with one hand, eyes laughing as she watched Cullen grinning, arms crossed in the doorway, one of the keep's nursemaids standing behind him looking both amused and horrified at this treatment of the Herald of Andraste.

Zima "died" dramatically, dropping onto the floor of the war room, and crying out, "Run, my lady, they are too many for me, but I will cover your escape if I can!" then collapsing limply, eyes closed, "daggers" crossed on her chest.

Josephine glanced back, suddenly joining in the spirit of the game, and gently resisting the tug on her hands, "Oh, my brave defender is lost, and I am left helpless with these terrible bandits!"

The Inquisitor lay perfectly still long enough for one of the youngest children to frown, leaning over to brush her short black hair out of her face and pull open one of her eyelids. "Inkistor?" she managed. Suddenly, Zima's eyes popped opened, and she grabbed the small child to begin tickling her, grinning and laughing maniacally.

"Ah ha! I have fooled you all! I am really the wicked tickle monster from Nug marshes, and I have used your lady to lure you all in to be tickled!" She began darting toward one child after another, moving on her knees so she was almost the same height as they shrieked and ran screaming around the table, trying to stay out of her reach, but also ducking back within arm's reach as if daring her to grab them. Zima caught another child, tickling him just enough to make him shriek with laughter and squirm out of her grasp. By now, Josephine, Cullen, and the nursemaid were all openly laughing as Zima and the children kept the game up for several minutes more. When the Inquisitor was thoroughly out of breath and red-faced, the nursemaid stepped into the room, calling the children.

"Now children, thank the Inquisitor and the Commander for a nice game, and let them go back to work." Zima sank down to sit on the floor, laughing breathlessly as several of the children paused to hug her before running toward the door. Cullen stopped the little girl with his helm long enough to reclaim his property, then crossed to offer Zima a hand up from the floor, wincing apparently from a few bruises. Josephine just shook her head at them as Leliana entered the room behind Cullen, eyes twinkling.

"Commander, what inspired this?"

Cullen set his helm on the table as Zima smoothed her clothes and hair back into place. "The children were playing in the courtyard when a horse broke loose from a groom and almost ran through them. We caught the horse, but the children were so upset, I thought they needed something to distract them from their fear. Then I remembered a conversation the Inquisitor and I had while playing chess a few days ago and thought I'd kill two birds with one stone."

Zima finished straightening her clothes, her face still lit by a broad grin, eyes shining at Cullen. "I remember, you asked me what I missed most about my clan, and I told you that it seemed so silent here because I almost never hear or see children." She glanced at Josephine almost shyly. "In a Dalish camp, there is always the noise of children—playing, laughing, chattering, fighting, and crying. And all of the children belong to the whole clan, so almost every day I could stop and play with the children, or even just hold a baby so parents could eat their meal." She turned back to Cullen, gently resting a hand on his arm as she smiled up at him. "Thank you, Commander, you couldn't have given me a better present."

Cullen chuckled and covered her hand, "Inquisitor, your laugh was all the thanks I need." Josephine exchanged a questioning look with Leliana who raised an eyebrow and pretended not to watch the two until suddenly Zima dropped her hand from his arm and turned back to the table abruptly. "I'm sorry Josephine, now where were we?"


	7. Messages

Leliana looked up, a expression on her face. "One of my agents forwarded a message from the Free Marches, supposedly for the Herald of Andraste, but…it's not from Clan Lavellan, Inquisitor, it's from a chantry scholar named Harward. I'd think it was a mistake or someone trying to gain influence with the Inquisition, but he has your name right, Zima of Clan Lavellan." Leliana and Josephine both stared at Zima curiously as she simply held out her hand for the sheet of parchment which Leliana handed to her after a moment of hesitation. "You're Dalish, why would someone from the chantry know you by name?"

Zima's dark eyes quickly scanned the message, closing halfway through before opening and reading the rest of the brief note, slowly setting it down on the war table without meeting their eyes. "Thank you, Leliana. Yes, I know Brother Harward, and I'll have a letter to go back to him by tomorrow. Excuse me." To their surprise, she turned and left quickly, without looking up. The two women exchanged glances while Cassandra gaped at the door as it closed.

"What was that about?" Cullen frowned at Leliana before reaching across for the note.

"It's just a few lines, saying he was relieved to hear that Zima is alive and well, but that no one had heard from the Revered Mother who had gone to Haven. He seems to assume that Lavellan will know which Revered Mother he's talking about, but why would a brother ask a Dalish about a high ranking chantry priest?"

"Oh, Maker." Cullen scanned the lines rapidly. "I think I have an idea who he is asking about, someone who helped her once. I should…probably talk to her.

Cullen found Zima shooting arrows at an archery butt with an intense concentration that seemed to exclude everything around her. At another time, he might have taken time to simply enjoy the artistry as she rapidly placed arrow after arrow in a tight grouping in the center of the target, hardly seeming to aim. Although he was almost certain she had heard him approaching, she continued firing silently until her quiver was empty, then strode down the range to inspect their placement before drawing them and refilling her quiver. Only as she walked back toward the firing line did she finally meet his eyes reluctantly.

"I'm sorry, Lavellan, your friend, the chantry priest you said once saved you, she was at the Conclave, wasn't she?"

She turned at the firing line, fitting an arrow to the bow string, raising it and drawing back to fire, then lowering the bow without firing. "Yes. I'd hoped she wasn't there, but I was very much afraid she had been, as a voice of moderation and sanity." Suddenly she raised the bow and fired the arrow into the center of the target as casually as a skilled carpenter might drive home a nail. "I know Leliana mourns Justinia, but Karina was the best person I've ever known, after my clan's Keeper. I don't think I ever told you the entire story, did I?" Slower now and without the grim intensity, she continued firing arrows into the target.

"Just that she once saved you and she helped you find teachers."

"I was scouting out a village to see if it would be safe for us to trade when a noble who was in the village for some reason noticed me, and somehow I felt vanishing quickly would be in my best interest." Her tone was wry, almost casual, but he noticed the next arrow she shot sunk unusually deeply into the butt. "I got out of his sight and went over a wall, planning to head for the outside edge of the village closest to some woods, but I dropped right into a chantry garden almost on top of a priest who was weeding some young plants. I'm not sure who was more startled. I was certain I'd gone from bad to worse, you understand, because if she'd tried to hold me, I could have gotten away, but I might also have injured her, which would very likely have meant reprisals against my clan and possibly every elf living in the area. I just stood there, praying to the Creators, and she looked as if she were about to demand an explanation when we heard a voice on the other side of the wall, giving guards instructions to find…" Zima hesitated, glancing at Cullen uncertainly, "well, I don't think I need to repeat what he called me. But that was apparently enough for Karina who put a finger over her lips and led me to a corner of the garden where two water barrels provided cover and signaled me to hide there. The noble actually entered the Chantry with his guards, but Karina sent him off with his tail singed, then she came back out into the garden and asked me if I'd like some tea." She fired one more arrow, a brief sad smile flashing across her face.

"Just like that, she invited you to take tea with her?" Cullen couldn't help letting a chuckle escape him.

"Yes. I was even more surprised when I realized that she'd recognized me as Dalish, but she just chatted about the healing herbs she had planted in the garden and asked if I'd mind telling her what my people used. After an hour or so, one of the lay brothers came into the garden and whispered something to her and she told me that the noble had ridden off to the southeast with his guards toward one of the larger estates in the area." Zima fired another arrow, a brief chuckle escaping her. "Then she told me I was welcome to visit any time, especially around mid-afternoon when she normally took an hour or two to work on the garden, and if I was uncomfortable entering through the chantry itself, I was welcome to come over the wall but please avoid landing on plants again if it wasn't an emergency. And just like that, she went inside and left me alone in the garden. I visited her three or four times before I found out that I'd almost landed on the Revered Mother herself." She fired the last arrow in her quiver before meeting his eyes.

"I think I'm beginning to understand why you were far more comfortable with the chantry and priests when we first found you than we expected."

Zima shook her head before walking down to draw her arrows from the butt again. "Oh, I was very uncomfortable, Commander; I was all too aware of how dangerous my situation was, and still is, but even more so for my people if I couldn't convince you and the chantry that I wasn't responsible for the Divine's death. And Karina never tried to pretend to me that I shouldn't be cautious around most priests; she just led me to take each priest, and each human, as an individual."

"She sounds as if she was a remarkable woman. If there had been more such women, and men, in the chantry, perhaps none of this would have happened."

"Corypheus took advantage of the situation, but he also manipulated it. I have to wonder how far back his influence on the mages and Templars extends, honestly. I just wish we could have saved both." She stared down the range again, then unstrung her bow with a sigh. "I should…work on the letter to Brother Harward, then get back to work. Apologize to Lady Josephine and Leliana for me, please, and ask them to give me about half an hour. After that, when they're ready to resume, send a messenger for me." Zima began to walk away, then turned back to him, resting a hand on his arm lightly, gratitude lightening her face just a little. "And thank you for worrying about me, Commander, you're a good friend."


	8. Homecoming

The guards signal that riders were approaching brought Cullen upright, setting the report he was reading on his desk to stand, suddenly realizing he'd sat hunched for long enough to become stiff. Rotating his shoulders as he walked, he came out on the wall and leaned against the crenellation as he shaded his eyes. On the bridge that approached Skyhold, he could see four riders approaching at a brisk trot. The lead mount, however, was no horse, but an elegant horned stag, and he relaxed, idly watching as the guards at the gate prepared to meet the Inquisitor and her team. The slightly taller, heavily armored figure of Cassandra rode close enough beside Zima to talk, while behind them he could make out the slender figure of Sera to one side, and Solas to the other, well apart, and he grimaced. Scout Harding had reported privately that Zima had finally convinced Solas and Sera to stop sniping at each other by asking if she should take notes to give to Varric so he could include them in his next book. Apparently that was pointed enough even for the two of them, but from Harding's report, the Inquisitor hardly seemed phased by the conflict.

When the riders were almost at the gate, he started down the stairs from the battlements to meet them in the forecourt. Soldiers came running forward to take the reins of their mounts, while the gate guards saluted the Inquisitor before beginning to lower the gate. Sera dismounted stiffly, her face stormy as she grabbed her saddlebags and headed for the tavern, and Cassandra, grabbing her own saddlebags, paused briefly to slap Zima's knee companionably before heading toward her own room. Zima dismounted more slowly, smiling in a wordless greeting to Cullen before handing her saddlebags to a guard and asking them to be taken to her room. Then she took the reins of her stag, whom she never trusted to anyone else after a long ride, glancing back at Cullen in an invitation to follow. He signaled another guard silently to pass him a water skin, then began to follow silently, then paused as he saw that Solas had intercepted the Inquisitor, speaking rapidly and softly. Zima shook her head tiredly, and her voice was just enough louder that he heard it.

"I know you didn't mean any harm, and I appreciate the apology, Solas, but you can't change people who don't want to change. My only interest is to have a team who works well together, and that isn't going to happen if you two are needling each other." She rested a graceful hand gently on his arm.

"You are right. Is that your only interest, though?" This time his words also carried to Cullen, who glanced around to see that the other mounts had been led away, only Zima insisting on caring for her stag herself.

Zima said something that Cullen didn't hear, then added, "You're my first choice of mage, however much I may like Dorian, Solas, but I'll start taking him with me if I must."

Solas nodded, glancing past her to see Cullen waiting, and frowned. "I'm sorry, you need to rest. I would like to speak later, though, Lethallan. Commander."

Zima watched until Solas was on the stairs to the battlements before raising an eyebrow at Cullen, a touch of humor in her face. "At moments like this, I appreciate everything Deshanna went through to keep the peace in our clan. Since I assume Leliana keeps up with everything, down to how often I wash my face, I don't have to ask if you already heard." She gently turned the hart toward its pen, letting Cullen follow.

"Just enough to worry a little." He leaned on the top rail of the fence, watching as she removed the saddle and tack, setting them aside to air until they were cleaned as she began gently going over every inch of the hart with a soft cloth. "Why do you keep taking both of them with you if they're that bad? I mean, even if you're more comfortable with elves, wouldn't replacing one of them be preferable?"

Zima stared at him over the hart's back, her dark blue eyes clearly surprised, then she began to giggle "Commander, have you ever listened to what Sera has to say about elves?"

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, still feeling the crick from sitting too long. "No, I admit, I have a hard time listening to her past the first few words she speaks most of the time, she isn't easy to follow."

Zima chuckled, coaxing the hart to lower his head so she could check his ears. "She was surprised, and not pleasantly, to find out I was an elf when we met and hoped I wasn't too 'elfie.' Honestly, even though I don't question their choices, they don't always do me the courtesy in return; sometimes I think anyone else would be a more comfortable companion than either Solas or Sera. I include the two of them most of the time because Sera's archery is devastating, and we need someone who keeps their distance from our fight, and Solas casts the best protections. You heard we took down the dragon in the Hinterlands? I'd been worried about a dragon being so close to the Crossroads and Redcliffe; that was the last thing they needed."

"We got word from the Crossroads when they heard. None of you were hurt, then?"

"Oh, a few cuts and bruises, especially Cassandra. I had a spectacular bruise on my…" she paused, eyes sliding away from his face as she changed the word she was going to use, "on my back from getting in the way of her tail once, knocked me fifteen feet at least. But Cassandra is better at holding attention on herself than anyone I've known, and Sera's archery when she's focused is as good or better than anyone the clans have to offer." She winked at him. "Just don't tell Sera I said that. But the fight went far better than we had a right to expect." She stroked the hart's neck lovingly, and he leaned into her caress with a snort before nosing his empty manger pointedly. "The stableman's making you a warm mash right now, Lethallin, and I'll make certain they bring you fresh hay and water." The hart turned his head to eye her, then tossed his head, making her laugh.

"What does that word mean, Letha…Lethalleen?"

She resumed rubbing down the hart, still chuckling, "Lethallin? It's hard to translate. Mostly, it's used for a clansman or male relative or just a close male friend. Our halla are part of our clans, not our servants, so I use it as an affectionate name to call Olen." The hart tossed his head again, then turned his head to nudge her gently.

"Is that what Solas called you, Lethallin?" Zima reached for the hart's water bucket, then paused, her brows drawing together as if trying to remember the conversation.

"I didn't notice, though was it maybe Lethallan, the word for a woman? How odd, I never noticed he'd begun to call me that." She picked up the water bucket, walking to the trough to wash it out carefully, then pumping fresh water into it. "I suppose it's because neither he nor I fit comfortably into either the elven or Dalish worlds. Well, at least he didn't call me Da'len. He used that once and discovered I do have a temper." He frowned, about to ask, but she just grinned, "No, it's nothing terrible. Roughly, it means 'child,' and something only a clan elder could call someone my age. I'm not about to accept that from someone neither part of my clan nor an elder."

Cullen saw the stableman approaching with the bucket of mash, and took it from him to hang from the fence for the hart who eyed him suspiciously with his left eye for a moment, then lowered his head slightly, leaving Cullen with the amused sense that the hart had thanked him. Zima returned with the full water bucket, fastening it firmly to its hook several feet from the mash bucket. "Back in Haven, you and Solas didn't seem to be on very friendly terms."

"We weren't." The stableman returned with a nice block of hay from a bale on the end of a pitchfork, and Zima took it from him to put it in the manger, expertly loosening the tightly pack strands with the pitchfork before handing it back to him with a smile of thanks. "Do me a favor and make certain she still has plenty tonight, and please ask someone to clean the tack. I don't think I'm going to be able to get back down here tonight."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

Zima leaned on the fence, watching her friend delicately take a few bites of the mash before nibbling a few strands of the hay from the manger. "Solas brought out the worst in me, Commander, he still does sometimes. I don't know why he is so angry with the Dalish; certainly my clan has never had contact with him unless he's older than he appears. But apparently my refusal to either insist the Dalish have everything right or to apologize for how we live and what we've managed to accomplish convinced him…of something, I'm not certain what. Once he dropped the defensive arrogance about the Dalish, well, he's fascinating to talk to, especially about the things he's seen in the Fade."

He straightened, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the main stairs into the hall. "You should get something to eat before Leliana and Josephine want to meet to discuss what you accomplished and what we need to do next."

"And get a bath, a real bath. Creators, I've gotten soft, but I will never get tired of hot baths." She wrinkled her nose as she tugged at the collar of her shirt.

Cullen grinned down at her. "And fresh bread?"

"Oh, don't remind me. We've had nothing but flat breads for the past week." Abruptly she changed the subject. "Did Leliana's spy mention just what set off this latest disagreement between Sera and Solas?"

"Just that she played a prank of some sort on him."

Zima began giggling again, covering her mouth. "Somehow she coaxed about a dozen lizards into his bedroll. I shouldn't, it really did set things off worse than they were, but his yelp when he found them was hilarious. Fortunately, he's lived in the wilderness long enough to know to shake out his bedroll before getting into it."


	9. Dragon Hunt

"And Derzka found herself staring up into the face of a very big, very angry dragon who roared at her and said 'you trespass, little one, tell me why I shouldn't eat you!'" Cullen was passing by a secluded corner of the garden when he heard those words in Zima's soft voice, and gasps and excited murmurs. Quietly, he approached, peeking around a bush to see Zima sitting on the ground with a small boy in her lap, while other children leaned against her or sat in a half-moon circle in front of her, listening intently to her words.

"What happened to Derzka then?"

"She was very frightened, of course, who wouldn't be if a dragon caught you near her horde? But she wasn't just bold, she was also very clever, and she flipped her tail as if she had not a care in the world and responded, 'Eat me? Why, I'm not even a morsel for a mighty creature such as you! You should be dining on fat sheep and goats and pigs!'

"Well, the dragon stared at her, then sighed. 'The farmers have moved their herds too far away for me to reach, and the wild game in the area have learned my scent and hide when I come near where I cannot follow them. You are right that you aren't even a morsel, but why should I let you go?'

"Derzka stared up at the dragon as if the answer was obvious. 'But mighty lady, I can travel through the trees as quick as the wind, and the game will not flee from _my_ scent. I can find where the farmers have moved their herds and where the wild game is hiding, and then bring you word so you can hunt for a proper meal. I know there are fat mountain sheep not that far away, and surely they would be more to your taste than a thin little squirrel?'"

Cullen grinned to himself as he realized he'd become almost as caught up in her story as the children, and now that he knew what Derzka was, he couldn't help picturing a squirrel flipping her tail at a dragon in false bravado.

"Well, the dragon sat back on her haunches, thinking, while Derzka sat still, staring into the dragon's face as if completely unafraid. Finally, the dragon said, 'Very well, little one, since you have not stolen anything you may make the attempt. But if you do not return within the day, I will track you down no matter what it takes.'

"Derzka bowed and began to back away toward the hole in the cave wall where she had entered. The dragon turned her head as if to check her horde, and Derzka fled through the hole, grabbing the broach she had found earlier and hidden there, afraid it was more dangerous to leave it in the tunnel as evidence she had stolen something before she was caught."

"Did Derzka find wild sheep for the dragon?" One of the older children looked skeptical.

"No, she had no intention of doing that, but she guessed that the dragon was hungry enough to take the chance that she could lead her to game. Derzka also thought it likely that the dragon would eat her anyway even if she did what she'd offered, especially if she discovered the missing broach. Now, a few dragons can track very well by scent, so Derzka decided she would hide the broach while she concealed her scent with some strong smelling plants that often worked to fool wolves and foxes, then flee with her prize into human lands. But these plants grow in swamps, and when she was trying to reach them, she slipped and fell into quicksand."

The children gasped, and the boy in her lap leaned closer into her arm, as if for reassurance. "Derzka called for help, but since so many animals had fled the dragon, she was surprised when a Dalish hunter appeared and pulled her from the quicksand. Until that moment, she hadn't known any Dalish had wandered into the area, but this was almost as alarming as the dragon because the Dalish sometimes hunt squirrels when there is little larger game. But this Dalish had a kind heart, too kind some of her clan would say, and instead of killing the squirrel to feed her clan, she took pity on the mud-covered creature and used water and a cloth to clean her up, letting her go. 'How did you get yourself into something like this, little sister; squirrels aren't usually so careless?'"

"Well, you can imagine this surprised Derzka, but she now owed a debt to the hunter, and a wise creature knows he or she must pay his debts. 'The dragon who claims these lands caught me in her cave. I tricked her into letting me go, but I was going to use this skunk cabbage to hide my scent and flee before she tracked me down.'"

"'A dragon!' The hunter was alarmed, but stared back the way she'd come. 'Thank you for the warning, but that is terrible news, little sister, because my clan has been driven here by enemies, and we cannot turn back. That explains why we've seen so little game, but I don't know how we can get our clan past the dragon, especially the halla.'"

"What's a halla?" One of the little girls leaning against her side asked curiously.

"They are the four footed brothers and sisters of the Dalish. They look like very large deer to you, but unlike your horses, they choose to help us in exchange for our protection from predators, and a dragon is a _very_ large predator." Zima ruffled the red hair of the little girl who giggled and pushed her hand away. "So, Derzka flipped her tail impatiently at the hunter, 'You are Dalish, you have many hunters with bows who can bring even a dragon down.' The hunter shook her head. 'Only if we can keep the dragon at a distance long enough to do enough damage; their skin is very tough, I'm told, and even our arrows cannot pierce them easily. I and one or two others could hold the dragon's attention, but our shields will not turn a dragon's breath even if we knew what kind it was.'

"Derzka thought back to the dragon's cave and the scents within it. 'The dragon's cave smelled…like the air during a very bad storm, the kind that brings down trees and starts fires.'

"Lightning, perhaps." The hunter crouched, staring off into the distance with such a sad look that the squirrel found herself wanting to help. She scampered to the nearby tree where she had concealed the broach and brought it back to the Dalish." At this moment, Zima glanced up, catching sight of Cullen listening from behind the bush, and winked at him.

"'This was hidden in the dragon's cave, apart from the rest of her horde, and I thought it might be important. Do you think it might help?' The hunter took the broach and examined it, shaking her head. 'I don't know, but perhaps my Keeper can tell. Will you trust me to come to our camp so you can show us the way to the dragon's lair?'

"Derzka thought of entering a camp of hunters and almost refused, but she remembered how the hunter had rescued her and how she had treated her kindly, and so she agreed."

Zima shifted slightly, her voice dropping a little more so the children had to listen even more closely. "The hunter's clan was frightened that they had stumbled into a dragon's hunting ground, but the Keeper listened closely to the hunter, Stoika, and to Derzka, then examined the broach. 'I can almost make out the symbols on this broach; I think, little sister, that you have taken the thing the dragon most fears from her horde.' So the Keeper ordered the best archers in the clan to prepare and then armored Stoika with a fine sword and shield, pinning the neck of her padded gambeson with the broach, before securing it with needle and thread so it could not be torn free. Then the Keeper helped Stoika don the only full set of mail that the clan possessed, made from a marvelous wood found only in the far eastern woods of Fereldan, the Ironbark. Then the Keeper led the rest of the clan into hiding while little Derzka guided Stoika and her hunters to the entrance of the dragon's cave.

"No sooner had Stoika arranged her hunters in the cover of bushes and trees when the dragon apparently caught scent of them and stalked out of her cave, growling with sparks of lightning around her head. Stoika stood in the middle of the clearing, calling a challenge at the dragon, braced with her shield and sword ready, and then while the hunters hailed arrows down on the dragon, she exhaled at Stoika, a ball of lightning that enveloped her and hid her briefly from view." The children gasped again, eyes wide. "The hunters were all afraid she had already been lost, but they kept shooting arrows at the dragon rather than running because they knew this was the clan's only chance to get past safely. Then the ball of lightning vanished, and Stoika stood unmoved, though it's said that her hair stood on end like this." Zima took locks of the small boy's hair and held them straight out from his head, making the other children giggle.

"The Keeper had been right, the broach was a defense against the dragon's greatest weapon and so she had tried to conceal it, but even without her breath, she was a fierce monster, and no more than one arrow in ten pierced her hide enough to actually hurt her. It was a terrible battle, and several times hunters barely dived out of the way of the lightning she breathed at them, and three times the dragon struck Stoika and knocked her to the ground so that the hunters were afraid she wouldn't get up." Cullen watched as the small girl slipped her head under Zima's arm as if hiding. "But the mail she wore was the finest the Dalish can make, and while she was badly bruised, she was able to get up each time and draw the dragon's attention back to her. Finally, so many arrows had pierced the dragon's legs that one collapsed under her, and several of the hunters who had also trained with long spears for boar hunts closed and drove their spears through her eye and into her head. And a cheer went up as the dragon sank to the ground, shuddering as she died."

"What happened then?" One of the older boys asked eagerly.

"Well, Stoika sank to her knees, exhausted and winded, but still well, while the hunters cheered. But as soon as Stoika could remove her helm and speak, she told them to remember who they owed this victory to and to find Derzka."

"Was Derzka alright?"

"Oh, of course, she wasn't going to stay close enough to _that_ battle to risk being hurt. No, Derzka had immediately taken advantage of the fight to sneak into the dragon's cave, looking for something shiny to replace the broach she'd given Stoika. What squirrel would pass up a chance like that?" The children giggled. "So the hunters found her in the dragon's cave with half a dozen gold and silver rings slid onto her arms and a gold chain bracelet set with rubies around her neck like a long necklace. The hunters brought her to Stoika who bowed to her and thanked Derzka for warning their clan, offering back the broach that saved Stoika and the other hunters while the hunters returned to the cave to search for the rest of the dragon's horde. Derzka looked at the broach longingly, then shook her head, saying 'no, that was your reward for saving my life, I cannot take it back.'"

"But you saved our whole clan with your warning. To repay you, you are welcome to travel with our clan, and we will feed you and protect you as long as you want to live as one of our clan."

"And I can keep my shinies?"

"Stoika laughed, lifting the squirrel in her arms, as the other hunters came out of the cave with enough gold and gems to barter with villages for several years for things they could not make themselves. 'Of course you may. And we will hunt acorns and nuts for you and we will make fresh flatbreads for you if you like every day.'

"So Derzka became a part of Stoika's clan for a year or two before she found a mate and left them. But Stoika never forgot the debt she owed the little squirrel, and she named her first daughter Derzka after the cheeky squirrel thief who saved their clan." Zima ruffled the hair of the boy in her lap again, grinning down at the little girl who had almost wriggled in next to him. "And that's why there is a Dalish clan who sometimes name a little girl after a squirrel, in the hopes she will be brave and clever and bring good luck to their clan."

Cullen was about to turn away, grinning in enjoyment at the story when he heard Zima adding. "Now, children, remember what I told you? There's a big lion hiding behind that bush over there, so circle around and surround him, then close in on him." Zima's mischievous eyes met his as the children giggled and circled the bush he was behind. "Now!" He suddenly found himself being pelted with grapes, with some of the older children using long strips of cloth as a sling to throw the grapes.

"Rahrrr!" He suddenly charged out of the bush, first toward one shrieking, laughing child after another as they ran from him.

"Close back in around him, don't let him break the circle around him!"

They kept the game up for several minutes until the children's guardian arrived with a basket full of bread rolls and cheese for the children's lunches, brought to a halt by the sight of the Inquisition's commander taking a grape to the center of his forehead and dying dramatically to be mobbed by the smallest children. Zima could hardly stop laughing enough to tell the children that the game was over, helping to remove the children so he could get back to his feet while the nursemaid reminded them to thank both the Inquisitor and the Commander.

When they'd been escorted away, waving back at the two, Zima grinned at him. "Eavesdropping on my story? How much did you hear?"

"I think I walked by just as Derzka was discovered by the dragon." He grinned back at her. "You sound as if you have a lot of practice telling stories to children."

"I've never told them to non-Dalish children, but yes, I found it was a good way to get them to settle down after supper to give their parents a few minutes of quiet to talk. Dalish children know stories like that so well that they can finish the lines for you, but I left out some things I didn't think these children would understand." She brushed the grass from her clothes and retrieved a mug from where she'd been sitting.

"What did you leave out?" He asked curiously as he removed a grape that had somehow gotten lodged in his vambrace.

"Oh, in the Dalish story, the Keeper's First helps fight the dragon, using magic to protect the hunters from the dragon's breath, little things that are different in how magic is seen among the Dalish." She took a long drink of the contents of her mug, sigh with satisfaction. "Dalish children's stories are teaching stories though, and I've been teaching them how to work together to protect themselves, at least briefly if necessary. Hopefully they'll remember that fighting is not only dangerous, but wars aren't won by one person alone but by a group of people working together."

"Speaking of working together," he grinned, "I think Josephine was looking for you for more court etiquette lessons."

Cullen laughed as Zima rolled her eyes and groaned. "I'd rather go clean Olen's pen, the muck is cleaner. Ah, well, I escaped for a few minutes, I suppose I should go let her pretend that a Dalish elf at the Imperial court is going to be anything other than a disaster. Chess after supper tonight if I can get free?"

"Absolutely, I'll even get the mint tea from the cooks so you can wash the taste of the muck out."

With a chuckle, she headed for the stairs.


	10. Good Luck

"And you learned how to do this from observing dreams?"

"The method is simple enough to observe, and the artisans often spoke their thoughts and feelings aloud as they worked, so yes." Cullen stepped into the rotunda to find Zima with one hip resting on Solas's work table, and the mage standing next to her, leaning close and pointing up at a vivid figure that stretched at least five meters above the floor. Cullen stared at the figure, then at the other highly stylized frescos that surrounded almost half of the walls of the rotunda. The first figure was instantly recognizable as Corypheus, dark and forbidding, hands cupped around a glowing orb with a line of power downward to a building in flames while orange ripples spread across the sky behind him toward the mountains framing him on either side.

Cullen had heard about the elven-style frescos that the apostate had been working on, but he hadn't been prepared for either the emotional impact or the vaguely alien quality. He'd just begun to study the second when he realized that Solas's voice had tapered off, and tore his eyes away to see that both elves were looking at him questioningly.

"Commander, is something wrong?" Zima stood up from the desk, moving a step away from Solas, dark brows drawn together in concern.

"Nothing, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Solas, these are…extraordinary, I've never seen anything like them." He gestured at the frescos, head tilted back to view them more clearly, suddenly regretting that he hadn't visited sooner, perhaps seen one of them in progress.

"I would be surprised if you had; according to the Inquisitor, very few even of the Dalish clans have retained the knowledge of this craft." Solas regarded him with the same cool, almost amused expression he had shown toward the ex-Templar on the few occasions they had spoken directly, but this time Cullen felt a hint of irritation at the interruption. "I am more surprised to hear a human express admiration for a simple elvhen art form; certainly the nobles here find it 'quaint,'"

Zima chuckled, "But they come to gaze in wonder—when you aren't here to frighten them—even if they have to pretend they aren't impressed, or so Leliana's spies say."

Both men stared at her in surprise. "Do they really?"

"They're nobles which means bored, while this is unique and lovely and terrifying all at the same time." She grinned. "I asked Josephine after I disturbed a group in here staring one day, and she explained both why they are fascinated and why they have to pretend they are not." Zima shrugged, adjusted the bandolier with her long knives. "In any case, I assume you needed one of us, Commander?"

Cullen forced his thoughts back to the present and nodded. "The king of Ferelden has sent a gift to the Inquisition; Leliana sent me to get you so you can send a message of thanks back to Denerim."

She chuckled again, brushing her dark hair back from her face. "If it were some other noble, I'd be worried I needed to think of some way to act delighted by another gift of pale pink or lavender silk lace or some bauble or relic, but based on Leliana's stories and his letters, somehow I think I'll be much more pleasantly surprised." Zima touched Solas's arm lightly in apology, then followed Cullen back out the outer door and the walkway to his tower.

"I hope so, I certainly was. I'm sorry I interrupted, though; the Inquisition makes so many demands on your time."

"Solas knows things about my people's history that we have forgotten; I feel I owe it to Keeper Deshanna to learn everything I can to pass on to her." As they approached his door, she could hear muffled noises through it, and dark blue eyes met amber ones questioningly. "Is that what it sounds like?"

Cullen just grinned and pushed the door open. "Better get inside quickly." He watched the Dalish woman enter warily, freezing just a foot or two inside the door as four young mabari pups tumbled over each other to greet them. "It's a very Fereldan gift, I'm afraid." A stiff, middle-aged woman with red hair stood next to Cullen's desk, studying Zima with sharp, wary eyes.

"They're mabari, aren't they, the Fereldan war hounds?" The puppies swarmed around her ankles in greeting, yipping happily, and she carefully stooped down to offer her fingers to them to sniff. Two puppies instantly began to bathe her hand, while a third grabbed her sash and began to tug on it, growling with puppy fierceness. The fourth, however, stumbled over to Cullen, sitting down in front of him and wagging her short tail in enthusiastic greeting, barking at him.

"Aye, that they are, my lady Inquisitor." The woman seemed to unbend a little. "I was sent as their handler and trainer, at least until they're grown and trained. They seem to like you, that's good. They don't take to everyone. No disrespect meant, but I thought Alis…his majesty was daft to be sending mabari to a Dalish, Herald of Andraste or no, especially not pups from _this_ line."

Zima's lips twitched at the woman's blunt honesty as well as her almost casual use of the king's given name, but she simply smiled and asked, "And what line would that be?"

"A mabari bonded to the hero of Ferelden; he sired two litters of pups on bitches in King Alistair's kennels before he left with the hero. These are the great-grandchildren of Stoika."

"A noble gift indeed." Zima carefully drew her sash from the mouth of the puppy, barely avoiding tiny sharp teeth clamping playfully on her hand. "Wait, did you say he named him Stoika?"

"Sure and he did, he said it was a Dalish name." The handler narrowed her eyes at her. "He wasn't the same clan as you, was he? I thought the king said his clan was Sabrae and yours is Lavellan." Surprisingly, the woman accented the clan name correctly.

"I think Warden Commander Misha and I are distant cousins through my father." Zima grinned at Cullen who was holding the pup who had demanded his attention. "Do you remember hearing the name, Stoika, Commander?"

"No…um, wait, the story you told to the children, wasn't that the name of the hunter?" The puppy surprised a bark of laughter from him when she lunged upwards to lick his cheek.

"Yes." Zima stood, laughing softly. "It seems you have made a friend, Commander."

"I suppose I have." He froze, glancing at the trainer who had a sly grin.

"Well, she's young yet, so it's hard to be certain, but I think she's chosen you, Commander. Seems appropriate." Cullen had a stunned look, broken when the puppy started licking his fur collar. "And from the way those three are swarming your feet, Inquisitor, I don't think it would take much to coax one of them into imprinting on you as well."

Zima's face lit up for a moment, then she shook her head regretfully. "I wish it were possible… Our stories say the Emerald knights in the Dales had wolves who bonded with them, the knights' guardians, but I suppose they all died with the knights. It would make me feel like I was keeping that alive; but I'm so rarely in Skyhold, and these are, what, eight or nine weeks old? Far too young to take out into the field with me and it wouldn't be fair to one of them to leave them alone so much. I think it's better if they're imprinted on some of Cullen's officers." She straightened with a determined smile and crossed to stroke the puppy Cullen had managed to detach from his collar, though Cullen knew her well enough now to suspect that she was hiding disappointment. "What are you going to name her?"

At that moment, the pup almost squirmed out of his hands, and he chuckled shakily. "I think Derzka would be appropriate, don't you?"

Zima's eyes lit up and if the trainer hadn't been present and watching, he suspected she would have giggled. "Absolutely. And there must always be a girl named Derzka in Stoika's line, in the hope she will be brave and clever and bring you good luck, Commander."


	11. Sacrifice and Doubt

Note: this and the next chapter or two aren't particularly humorous, but fit my sense of their friendship and events. The humor will return.  
>Note also that I'm a big fan of Solas; this is just how I think one Inquisitor's interactions might go, given some of his actions and comments.<p>

* * *

><p>Josephine met Cullen in the courtyard as he handed his mount off to one of the stablemen. She didn't need to say anything for him to recognize both that she was troubled and that she didn't want to speak of it publicly. He was even more concerned when she led him into an empty War room and simply handed him a report; it was completely unlike Leliana to be absent, and almost as worrying that neither the Inquisitor nor any of those who'd accompanied her to Adamant were there. Quickly he skimmed through it, pausing several times to meet Josephine's eyes wordlessly. Finally, he slowly laid the report down on the map table.<p>

"Maker's breath. I take it Leliana's read this?"

"Yes, she's the only one outside of the group who was with Lavellan who knows exactly what happened. She…is taking it hard." A corner of his mind cynically noted that Zima would be pleased that Josephine had dropped the Herald title, but he pushed that thought away as well as the implications for his Dalish friend in the long term.

"I would imagine Cassandra is as well, especially since she was in the Fade and saw. Where is Lavellan?"

Josephine shrugged helplessly. "I'm not sure. When she returned, she handed the report to Leliana, said 'I'm sorry,' and vanished; you know how good she is at disappearing once she has someone looking at something. Neither Cassandra nor Varric said anything either, and Solas just told us we needed to read the report."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "It may not really change anything, but that discussion needs to wait. First things first, you find Leliana and I'll find Lavellan. Someone needs to talk to Cassandra later, but Leliana was much closer to the Divine than Cassandra was. And Lavellan…"

"...Will be berating herself for letting Stroud stay in the Fade instead of herself." Josephine smiled slightly, but without much humor. "A wise idea, Commander."

* * *

><p>Rather than search every hidden corner of Skyhold, which he suspected Zima knew far better than he did, he found the houndmaster (who had a name that no one could ever seem to remember) and borrowed Derzka. While mabaris couldn't match the tracking ability of an Orlesian courser, they did have a knack of locating people they knew and liked (or disliked) who were nearby. Cullen took her to the stable to let her sniff Zima's saddle, then let her lead him, surprisingly, up onto the battlements and to the foot a ladder in a particularly tall, still ruined tower. Scooping the wriggling puppy (who had doubled her size since she arrived) close to his chest, he climbed the ladder, poking his head through into the open air.<p>

Zima leaned against one of the crenellations, staring off at the mountains in the distance, her short black hair tied down by a band of twisted cloth to keep the wind from whipping it into her eyes. Without turning, she commented, "I take it you read our report?"

Derzka squirmed out of Cullen's grasp, running across the roof to wriggle his tail in the air at her, front close to the ground, barking happily. Zima turned and slid to sit on the roof, back against the stone while Derzka jumped into her lap, trying to bathe her face. "Yes, Josephine showed it to me. She's gone to talk to Leliana."

She stroked Derzka who slowly began to calm, though licking Zima's hands enthusiastically to convey how much she'd missed this elf-friend. "I should have stayed and been the one to talk to her, but I just…couldn't face her right now." She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "I'm afraid I'm a coward about some things, Commander; I just couldn't look her in the eye, knowing I escaped and her Justinia didn't."

"The way you can't look at me now?" He squatted down a few feet away, leaning back against a corner of the tower, watching her bite her lip before finally raising her eyes from Derzka.

"I guess." He watched complex emotions playing across her face and waited. "I'm sorry, neither the Maker nor Andraste saved me at Haven. I know this could weaken the Inquisition's position, so much has depended on people's faith that I'm the Herald of Andraste." She glanced briefly down at Derzka, who was yawning and settling in comfortably, as if for a nap, then her dark blue eyes met Cullen's apologetically.

"You never lied to us, you have nothing to apologize for."

"Don't I? I'm alive because people keep sacrificing themselves for me. Justinia, Stroud, that future Cassandra, Solas, and Sera, even Hawke volunteered to stay in the Fade to allow us to escape. Why me? I'm no one, just an elf who isn't quite Dalish and isn't quite part of your world." She paused for a moment, chewing her lower lip, and he waited silently for her to continue. "Do you know why I left Stroud behind? Hawke and Varric have more personal responsibility for a lot of what's going on, after all. But he was a Warden and had been one for decades, which means he probably didn't have much longer before he faced his real Calling. Simple math between him and Hawke, and my sense that this gave Stroud's death more meaning than anonymously in the Deep Roads. We have no way to know how much help killing darkspawn individually even accomplishes; they may simply breed faster to replace them. At that moment, I felt I was giving him a hero's death that he deserved. Now, I just feel like a coward—I should have been the one to stay behind since I'm only here by accident."

She turned her face back down to Derzka, while Cullen spoke softly, "You think Corypheus was right and this proves you were a mistake?"

"Yes." Her voice was so soft he would have missed it if he hadn't been listening for it.

"Lavellan, would a _mistake_ have closed the breach, faced down Corypheus and his dragon, united and led the Inquisition, risked herself repeatedly for us? Maker's breath, none of us could have done what you've done. Just because it wasn't Andraste herself who saved you doesn't mean you were a mistake or even an accident." Her head snapped up in surprise, the mabari puppy stirring in his sleep at her motion until Zima gently laid a slender hand on her head.

"You…really think that?"

"I know that." He tried to convey his confidence in her through her voice, rewarded by a relaxation of some of the tension in her shoulders.

"I was afraid all of you would consider me a poor exchange for Justinia, an imposter, a mistake. Or even blame me for Justinia's death after all." She leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes gazing at the tower which held her room, her mask of calmness slipping a little more to reveal uncertainly and self-doubt. "I suppose Josephine and Leliana will want to keep that a secret, at least while they need people to have faith in the Inquisition. But Justinia's the real hero, you know. She fought Corypheus with everything she had. If she hadn't tried to interrupt his ritual, knocked the globe from his hand, he would have succeeded. Everything she did in the Fade the first time…I was just an elf, and not only that, a Dalish elf who doesn't follow the Chantry. She could have left me behind at one point, and I think she could have escaped if she had abandoned me there, but she didn't."

"You're right, of course." He paused for a moment, thinking through his own confused feelings. "Justinia may have interrupted his ritual, but so did you, distracting him to give her that opportunity. You picked up that orb that gave you the anchor, that kept it from him, and the anchor has given you a weapon to fight him. Just because Andraste didn't appear personally to escort you through the Fade doesn't mean the Maker hasn't guided you to be in the right place, unless you think just anyone would have accepted that power and not used it for selfish reasons." He paused, wondering if perhaps he'd overstepped the limits of their friendship. "I know you don't believe in the Maker, or, well, you said you do, you just don't worship him…" Cullen trailed off, not quite sure himself what he'd been trying to say, but she nodded, still staring off into the distance.

"It hasn't escaped my notice that a high ranking Chantry priest has twice saved me, three times if you count whoever or whatever we met wearing her shape in the Fade this time. I…" she shook her head slowly, then met his gaze, eyes troubled. "I believe in our Creators, I just doubt what they are, and they have been silent for so long. But the Maker always seemed to care only for humans. The Exalted March against the Dales was called in his name, after all, and elves have never had any real role in the Chantry, even Karina admitted that."

"The Chantry has often spoken more in its own interests than worrying about what Andraste said or the Maker wants. You told me that you'd read the Book of Shartan, so you know there was a time that things were different." He shifted, sitting down in a more comfortable position. "You sound as if you're struggling with what you believe."

"When everyone thought it was Andraste who saved me, it was easy to dismiss as wishful thinking, humans hoping for a sign from their god." Zima met his eyes apologetically for just a moment. "But Justinia, I _know_ she was real, I know she saved me, and I can't help seeing what that implies and that scares me. The strength of her faith—if the hand of a god was on anyone, it was on her. The Dalish have our own gods, even if they're silent; why would the Maker take an interest in me and risk drawing their attention?" She chewed her lower lip in that habit he'd noticed which meant she was thinking hard and not necessarily liking the direction of her thoughts. "It's bad enough that an ancient magister-darkspawn who wants to be a god is after me, why do I feel like it won't end well for me if I'm also caught between the Maker and my gods if that is what's going on? Will they let me continue to walk a path between them and not choose?" Then she shrugged. "And it won't exactly make me more popular with my own clan if I admit I think the Maker has taken an interest in me, however indirectly, you know. But people need to believe that for now." Derzka shifted in her sleep, rolling over onto her back, paws limp, drawing a slight, tired smile from Zima.

"I have no answers for you. But don't drown yourself in guilt for things you've had no control over, or for making the best decisions you can when you've had to. It's one thing to admit you've done something wrong and try to fix it or atone for it; it's another when you had no good decision, like in the Fade. Thedas still needs you against Corypheus; you know no one would have let you stay behind. Six people would have died instead of one, and the Inquisition would have been leaderless and the Wardens lost."

She grimaced. "Maybe. Though the Wardens… Cassandra wasn't very happy with my decision, and Solas and I…had words. Yes, they're a risk, but we _know_ they're a risk now; and we still need them. Part of the reason the blight was almost a disaster in Ferelden was there were so few Wardens there. The darkspawn may not be intelligent, but the archdemons are, and surely it's occurred to you that it was no coincidence that the archdemon appeared where there were so few wardens?"

"I don't disagree." Cullen suddenly shifted topics, uncomfortable with being reminded of the events during the blight. "The thing you encountered in the Fade who had Justinia's form, do you think it really may have been Justinia, or something that at least had some of her memories? I hesitate to assume it was a demon after the way it aided you."

Zima ran a hand through her hair tiredly. "I honestly don't know, Commander. I don't know if a person's spirit can linger in the Fade or not, but if they can, it might have been her, especially if strength of will or faith is what's required. I think it's more likely it was a…spirit who had some of her memories. I can't otherwise explain her message to Leliana." Then she snorted. "The one person who might be able to tell us isn't talking. When Solas tried to argue with me about my decision regarding the Wardens, I asked him why he hadn't spoken up in the Fade to tell us what she was. That shut him right up."

Cullen raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, "You said you two had words, is everything alright?"

She shook her head quickly. "Yes, he apologized later, and we made up. He still isn't answering questions about what that was, though." After a couple of minutes of silence as she lightly stroked the belly of the sleeping puppy, she sighed, scooping the limp puppy up to stand and pass her to Cullen. "I've hidden long enough. I should probably see how Cassandra is doing. I'm glad Josephine went to Leliana, though, I'm still not sure I'm ready to face her." Zima paused, touching his shoulder lightly. "And thank you."

"Never think you were a mistake, Lavellan. Whatever else Justinia might have been able to do if she survived, I don't think she could have fought Corypheus the way you have." He was rewarded with a ghost of her normal smile as she turned toward the ladder, ducking her head.


	12. Dreams

Uncomfortable dreams and memories, and an almost romance.

Note: I adore Solas's character. This is just my interpretation of how one person might react to what he does.

Cullen was walking slowly, balancing the teapot, mugs with spoons rattling in them, and a small pot of honey, so heard Dorian and Zima's voices before he came in sight of them at the chess board.

"My dear Inquisitor, how can I possibly win when you are so charmingly distracting?" The outrageous flirtatiousness of Dorian's voice didn't surprise Cullen; he'd heard him use that tone on Zima before. What was surprising was the lightness in the way she answered.

"Then I have to take advantage of that distraction, my dear. Besides, the game is mine in two moves, in case you hadn't noticed."

Cullen came around the bush, and saw Dorian stand up from his chair and bow to the Inquisitor with a dramatic flourish that had her covering her mouth to smother her giggle, her eyes twinkling at the dark haired mage. Just then Dorian spotted Cullen and gestured to the chair he had just vacated. "And here comes someone who can give you a proper challenge. And he bears gifts!" Dorian walked over to relieve Cullen of his pot of tea.

"So, afraid I'm too challenging for you?" Zima winked at Cullen, seemingly in a light-hearted mood.

"The only one brave enough to risk _that_ challenge, my dear, is a bald apostate, unless I misjudge …"

Both men were startled when the smile abruptly slipped from her face. "Dorian, don't."

"I'm sorry, I thought…." His voice trailed off as she stared down at the chess board, fidgeting with one of the pieces.

"No." She finally glanced up briefly at Dorian, her face red. "It's alright, Dorian, honestly." Zima quickly looked back down, beginning to arrange the pieces for her match with Cullen with a grim concentration.

Dorian hesitated, shaking his head at Cullen's scowl and nodding toward the seat across from the elf who was hunched intently over the board and silently mouthed "talk to her." Then instead of taking his normal pose leaning against a column to watch and tease both of them, he cheerfully stretched, his voice carefully light. "Since the commander has provided us with a lovely pot of tea, I think I'll see if the kitchen has any cakes to go with it. Don't beat the commander too quickly, my dear, I like to watch his face when you do."

Cullen sat down across from her, pouring tea into one of the mugs and pushing it across to her with the honey which he knew she loved. They played in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two until finally she met his eyes, her lower lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude."

"It's alright. I just hadn't been aware that…" He trailed off awkwardly, not sure how to ask such a personal question, but worried, especially if it involved an apostate mage.

"Solas and I? No. I…got scared and ran before it went anywhere." She shrugged. "I told you I can be a coward about some things."

"Did he do something that scared you?" Cullen straightened, a scowl on his face, surprised a little at his own reaction to the thought. Her eyes widened, startled by his reaction, then she shook her head, laughing shakily.

"No, nothing like that. And it wasn't intentional. I just hadn't really thought through the implications of what he is and does." She picked up a captured pawn and leaned back in her chair, playing with it.

"I don't understand."

"He _dreams_. And in his dreams he can see other people's dreams. And…" she hesitated, dark blue eyes fixed on the pawn, "he can walk into those dreams. Or maybe something he does made it possible for me to walk into his dream, but when I woke up and realized he remembered our…dream conversation in the Fade, it terrified me." She chewed her lip, then abruptly set down the pawn and picked up her mug of tea.

"He talked to you in a dream?" Cullen leaned back, cupping his mug between his hands thoughtfully, watching her face and the way she avoided his eyes, the slight shake of her hands, and remembering the woman who had walked out of the chantry in Haven to face Corypheus in perfect control of herself.

"Yes. Maybe it's foolish, but the idea that someone could know what I dreamed terrifies me. I mean, I knew what he did, but I assumed it was only old memories and dreams, people who've been dead so long no one remembers their names, not things people are dreaming now. Not _my_ dreams and memories. It's the idea that I could never be certain if I was having a conversation awake or asleep, whether that person could look at my every memory, know everything I've ever dreamed, my worst nightmares." She gulped the tea quickly, eyes fixed on the board. "It's one thing to choose to share those things with someone; it's another thing entirely to never know just how much that person knows about you."

Cullen felt the icy touch of memory, and quickly brought the mug to his lips, struggling briefly with a surge of nightmares that threatened to overwhelm him. The idea of someone seeing his nightmares, his _memories_ of Kinloch left him shaking. Hiding his face with the mug and inhaling the steam instead of actual trying to force the hot liquid past his lips as his own hands trembled, he brought himself back under control. "I think that's…a reasonable reaction. Blood mages are feared exactly because they can invade your mind; not that this sounds the same, but still…"

Suddenly she shook herself, lips twisting in a wry grin. "I'm sorry. I should have realized that Dorian would notice how much we'd been talking and tease me about Solas, but he took me off guard."

Desperate to redirect the conversation away from topics that stirred old memories of his own, he lowered the mug to return her smile. "He does seem to have a way about him, but you were giving him back as good as he gave you."

Zima chuckled. "Flirting is a game for Dorian, and I'm safe since he knows I know he isn't interested, and he's safe since I, um, that sentence was getting complicated, wasn't it?" She ran a hand through her short hair, smoothing it back habitually before moving a piece. "Hopefully that made sense."

"What made sense?" Dorian's cheerful voice announced his return with a plate of cakes, smelling deliciously warm as if he'd snagged them straight from the oven. "It's my turn to bring gifts. Now, have you beaten the Commander yet or do I get to watch?"


End file.
